


End of the Line

by PetrichorPerfume



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Apocalypse, Bible Quotes, End of the World, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Lucifer's Cage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-05
Updated: 2014-10-05
Packaged: 2018-02-19 22:16:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2404835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PetrichorPerfume/pseuds/PetrichorPerfume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The world ends tomorrow. For now, though, there are fingers carding through his hair, soft and gentle and fragile, almost, and the air is alive with an almost paradoxical marriage of scents, November rain dampening the last bristle husks of summer’s bounty and August thunderstorms cracking loud and oppressive in the yet-unbroken heat and April’s last snow falling fast and heavy so far up in the mountains that it’ll be a thousand-years buried before the world warms enough for it to begin to melt. “What was it like?” Michael asks, breathlessly and nigh silently as if he’s afraid that speaking too loud or too fast or too soon will break something vital in one or both of them and send them tumbling into tomorrow even before dawn sets fire to the sky.</p>
            </blockquote>





	End of the Line

The world ends tomorrow, and with it humanity and Heaven and Hell and possibly everything else in Creation.

 

There are fingers carding through his hair now, though, soft and gentle and fragile, almost, and the air is alive with an almost paradoxical marriage of scents, November rain dampening the last bristle husks of summer’s bounty and August thunderstorms cracking loud and oppressive in the yet-unbroken heat and April’s last snow falling fast and heavy so far up in the mountains that it’ll be a thousand-years buried before the world warms enough for it to begin to melt. “What was it like?” Michael asks, breathlessly and nigh silently as if he’s afraid that speaking too loud or too fast or too soon will break something vital in one or both of them and send them tumbling into tomorrow even before dawn sets fire to the sky.

 

Lucifer doesn’t speak for a while; he has the same fears that no matter how long they drag this out, tomorrow will come eons too soon. “Cold,” he answers eventually, some irrational part of him crying out that the less he talks, the slower the world will turn into the light of a disastrous new day.

 

“Cold,” Michael agrees, flicking a blanket over them both. An apology of sorts, Lucifer thinks.

 

“Lonely,” he continues, and now that he’s started the rest is all going to come spewing forth like molten rock from some age-old fault. “We can end this,” he whispers. There’s desperation and hopelessness and despair at the edges of his voice, and he doesn’t quite believe the words himself but he has to try, he _has_ to-

 

“And I saw an angel come down from Heaven, having the key of the bottomless pit, and a great chain in his hand. And he took the dragon that old serpent, which is the Devil and Satan, and bound him a thousand years: and cast him into the bottomless pit,” Michael speaks, firmly, finally, like the tolling of death bells – the Word spoken by he who is like God.

 

“No,” Lucifer says. It’s hollow and broken at the edges and oh so broken, but he can not let it end like this; he _can’t_ -

 

“Yes.”

 

The sun rises; night retreats; day dawns; he _will_. 


End file.
